


The Look on Their Faces

by tonkzart



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Future Fic, adam and belle are super gross 20 years later, everyone is happy and loves each other, of course their children are brilliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonkzart/pseuds/tonkzart
Summary: A series about Belle and Adam’s love told through the eyes of their children.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first BatB fic! I've been obsessed for months but hadn't stepped into the fandom yet, which is odd for me and speaks of a self-restraint I don't actually have. I do like to think that Belle and Adam would have a large family, enough to fill up that castle of theirs with plenty of laughter and running.
> 
> So, if you're curious, the children and their ages are:  
> -Rose (16)  
> -Leonie (15)  
> -Étienne and Clemence (13)  
> -Valerie (12)  
> -Neville (10)  
> -Bellamy (9)  
> -Lunette (8)  
> -Eulalie (7)  
> -Helaine (5)

The ten children of the renowned beautiful-peasant-turned-princess and the prince-who-once-was-a-fearsome-beast were well known in the village, and talked of in lands far afield, for their accomplishments and stature. Charismatic, creative, and close-knit, Belle’s and Adam’s daughters and sons had much to recommend them, though behind closed castle gates they could squabble and snipe as well as any other group of siblings. To be sure, their positive traits far outshined their negative ones, having been raised to know the value of patience and even temper. Their father adored them, and their mother’s joy shone through her eyes whenever they lit upon her young ones. It was apparent to the entire kingdom that their royal family lived a life that not many are blessed with, full of high spirits and high regard for one another.

A self-assured young miss of sixteen, Rose could be found at any village dance, twirling her heart away, likely with her grandfather Maurice looking on happily. The youngest, five-year-old Helaine, would pet any dog she came across, humming tuneful strains in her childish soprano. The boys were outgoing and whip-smart, the younger girls vivacious and personable. The castle staff, unusually familiar with the family for a noble house’s employees, could often be heard scolding their own miscreant children to follow the young masters’ and mistresses’ example.

The fact remained that none of this would have been possible had not the parents cultivated a house full of love (though as the prince would tell anyone, it was simply a habit, the easiest thing in the world to spend every moment he could making his children and his wife feel the love and happiness in his heart). As much as Adam and Belle paid their children every affection, what they didn’t know was how much the young ones observed them in turn, watching to see how they behaved with each other - and though the couple tried to steal away for their more tender moments, a great many of them did not go unnoticed. Though the boys might not admit it, or the older ones might blush due to their broader awareness of romantic overtures, the sense of security that came from seeing their parents still so very in love was the foundation of the children’s confidence and desire to take life as it came.


	2. Family Traits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam believes that his children's good attributes are all due to Belle.

“I don’t think Papa is having a very good day.”

Valerie, fifth in line for the throne, age twelve, looked up from her diagram. Her eight-year-old sister Lunette stood across the table from her, eyebrows drawn.

A frown on happy Lunette’s face meant that whatever she was thinking about was truly concerning. Valerie folded up her paper and penned a “V” onto it, to make sure no one looked at it. “Why do you say that?”

Lunette walked around the table and climbed onto the sofa next to Valerie. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what, Lulu? I haven’t seen Papa since breakfast.”

“He was watching me and Bellamy and Clemence in the garden, making a map of the town on the pavement with that chalk Grand-père gave us,” Lunette explained. “Bellamy drew a frame around the edge and I made Maman’s old house with her and Grandpère sitting in it, and I thought Papa would like it, but he just looked at it for a minute and then went inside! He looked sad, Valerie.”

Valerie regarded her little sister for a moment. Lunette had a knack for seeing the things that other people missed, so Valerie took her account with no small degree of seriousness. “I wonder why. Papa is hard to understand sometimes.”

“Should we tell Maman?”

“Not yet, Lulu. Why don’t we see if he perks up later today? I don’t want anyone else to worry unless something is truly wrong.”

Lunette shook her head quickly, still distressed. “I don’t want to worry anyone either!”

Valerie smiled, playfully rapping Lunette on the knee. “I am worth worrying, is that it?”

Lunette reached toward Valerie and hugged her arm close to herself. “I don’t want you to worry, but you are the right person to tell.” Her big hazel eyes looked into Valerie’s, shining with sincerity.

“Very well, then. Just between us until, hmm… bedtime? We can tell Maman then if he isn’t better.”

Lunette nodded decidedly.

-

As it turned out, Lunette would not have to wait until the evening to find out what troubled their father. Valerie, headstrong in all that she did, set out to search for Papa as soon as Lunette was called away from the parlor to play with Bellamy. If there was an answer to be had, why not go about obtaining it at once?

She checked the library, but the only one in there was Étienne. It only took one more guess to locate Papa, in his study. He always kept the door open, but Valerie knocked on it anyway.

Her father lifted his head, having been bent over several forms he was writing on. A small smile lit his face when he saw it was his daughter. “What is it, Valerie?”

Valerie crossed the threshold and sat herself in the big armchair off to the side of his desk, where Maman could be found reading sometimes. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

Papa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wrong? Nothing that comes to my mind. My dear, what brought this on?”

“Lunette said that you looked sad, out in the garden.” Papa’s gaze dropped, giving Valerie further suspicion. “She told me because she was worried, and I just thought, if there’s something I can do to help, I want to know why you’re not happy.”

Papa’s mouth quirked up in another grin, but this one was wry. “So perceptive. That girl notices everything, just like your mother.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Maman was so smart, beautiful, resourceful, kind…

“It certainly is.” Papa’s smile grew into a real one. He looked at Valerie again, his eyes wistful. “You children all take after your mother. And…” He let out a small sigh. “That is why I was feeling morose earlier, Valerie. Bellamy is artistic, Étienne loves to read more than anything else, Helaine already has the gift of song. It seems that all of the best things about our children come from your wonderful mother. Watching you all exercise your talents is a privilege I am glad to have, but it does bring those thoughts to the front of my mind. That is all that was pressing on my heart this morning, dearest, nothing more.”

Throughout his speech, Valerie became more and more unsettled. She barely held herself in until Papa was finished speaking, when she finally exclaimed, “But that isn’t true at all!”

Before her father could say anything in response, Valerie moved from the armchair to behind the desk, by his side. “I can play the piano, and so can you, but Maman can’t! Rose is so fond of dancing, which she gets from you. You read just as much as Maman, so it’s your fault as well that Étienne’s such a bookworm. Neville is athletic like you are, and Bellamy is friends with everyone, just like you!” Valerie wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, leaning down a little to rest her head next to his. Papa’s hand came up to cradle the other side of her head. “Oh, Papa, you are so silly! We do take after you, that’s why Maman loves us so much!”

Her papa’s other hand rose to grasp her shoulder. He was trembling, and when Valerie pulled back a bit to look at him, she saw a tear tracking down his cheek into his beard. She swooped in again to kiss her father on the temple, and he sniffled.

“What in the world would I ever do without you?” Papa chuckled, his voice watery. “My sweetest, most confident Valerie.”

“I’m your only Valerie.”

“And therefore the best Valerie.”

“I suppose. I’m going to tell Lunette that she has nothing to worry about,” Valerie declared, finally letting go of her father. And Maman, she thought. Even if her and Lunette’s plan was no longer needed, the thought of her father feeling so disparagingly about himself had certainly given her pause. Maybe Papa wasn’t as solid and all-knowing as she had always thought. In any case, he was still her papa, and she loved him.

Papa gave her hand a quick kiss, then turned back to his papers. As Valerie started to leave the room, he called after her, “When you’re done with that, find your maman and come back up here. I think it’s time we told you the story of how we met.”

Valerie smiled.


	3. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle finally returns from a visit to the village, to her husband's delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this! I'm writing as much as I'm able, and I'm having a blast with the dynamics of this wonderful family. Hopefully you find them as interesting as I do!

If she had to guess, Leonie would say that she spent at least a third of every day of her fifteen years of life outside, rain or shine, summer or winter. Okay, that was a generous estimate, but she’d be happy if it were true. Whether reading on a bench, gardening with Clemence, walking the grounds, playing with her siblings, or on a family outing, Leonie loved to feel the sun on her face and to breathe fresh air. She loved tracking through fresh snow and even being drenched through by rain, as long as she escaped Mrs. Potts’s ire by timing her return to the castle perfectly.

It just so happened that Leonie was outside on this day, playing a ball game with Neville and Eulalie, when their mother’s carriage pulled in through the gates.

Maman had been staying at Grand-père’s house for the last week, overseeing the construction of the shelves in the new addition to the village library. She had combed through her library in the castle for almost a month, personally curating her considerable selection of the first volumes to be shelved in the new wing.

“This way the village sees that your father and I are truly invested in their education and their lives,” she had told Leonie, on one of the rare days when she volunteered her services inside.

“Don’t they know that already?” Leonie had asked, depositing the stack she held on a table.

Maman had had an inscrutable look on her face. “We’ve each wronged each other in the past, the villagers and I,” she had said, running her finger down the list of books she wanted to weed. “I don’t know if we’ll ever be entirely finished trying to repay one another. I by my contributions to the town, and they by allowing me to make them.”

Leonie hadn’t known what she meant by that, but it felt like a subject she shouldn’t pry into.

Now Maman was back, at any rate. She usually liked to simply ride horseback when she went to visit her father in Villeneuve, but she had used the carriage for all her books on this trip. The wheels clattered over a few uneven paving stones.

Eulalie’s gaze snapped to the main driveway, drawn just as Leonie’s attention had been. “Maman!” she cried, dropping the ball. Neville swiveled as well, and the three children immediately began running around the sculpted hedges toward the front of the castle. Coming from the side yard as they were, they were not the first to make it to the driveway.

Leonie, far outstripping her younger siblings with her long legs, rounded the last hedge just in time to witness her father burst from the grand doors of the castle.

The smile on his face stopped her in her tracks. As Neville and Eulalie came abreast of her, she held her hands up to stop them as well.

“What is it?” Neville panted. “Maman - ”

“We should wait our turn,” was all Leonie had to say. She pointed at their father, dashing down the drive to where the carriage was pulling to a stop.

Maman’s door popped open before the carriage was even still. Leonie and her brother and sister watched as she made an almost-graceful exit, lurching on her feet a little as she escaped the rocking vehicle but recovering to take her own running steps toward her husband.

They crashed into each other a moment later, spinning in each other’s arms, laughing; as they twirled, Leonie could see the bright beaming grin on her mother’s face over Papa’s shoulder. Setting her on her feet, Papa kissed her, thumb on her chin.

“Ew,” Neville said, his ten-year-old face wrinkled with distaste.

“It’s nice,” Eulalie protested indignantly.

“Yes, aren’t you glad Maman and Papa are in love?” Leonie joined in. Neville turned his wrinkled nose up to meet her eye.

“I suppose,” he acquiesced. “But do we have to watch?”

“Fair enough. We can talk to them later,” Leonie suggested.

“I’m going inside,” Neville declared, he and Eulalie setting off toward the back entrance.

“Aren’t you coming?” Eulalie asked over her shoulder after a few steps.

“Of course she’s not,” Neville answered for her. “Leonie lives outside.”

With her siblings gone, Leonie couldn’t help but hear the beginnings of her parents’ conversation around the corner. Feeling a bit like a snoop, but very curious, she leaned herself into the hedge at her back, where she could see but not be seen.

“I missed you so,” Maman was saying to Papa. Her hands were cupping his face, both of them in profile to Leonie’s vantage point. Papa was rubbing her wrists fondly.

“I’m never happy when you are gone so long,” he replied.

“Nor am I,” Maman assured him. “You’d think after twenty years…”

Papa smiled broadly. “I’m glad to know that I am not the only one whose pain at being apart is undiminished still.”

Maman gave him that smirk, the look she only ever gave her husband. “I did tell you that night that I would always come back to you, didn’t I?”

“No indeed, you said that you would never leave me again, ma chérie.”

“Ah, and a jaunt to the village counts as me breaking that oath?” Maman was teasing, but there was a serious undercurrent to the exchange that had Leonie puzzled.

Papa took her hands from his face and brought them together to kiss them, still gazing at her devotedly. “I understand the nuances of your pledge, love, but can an ardent husband not still be grateful when his wife returns to him every time?”

Maman didn’t say anything in response, but leaned in to kiss him again, slow and deep. Papa cupped her face with one hand, the other still holding hers to his chest.

A commotion rumbled from the braked and parked carriage, a box falling to the ground.

Leonie’s parents separated, but neither of them moved from their spot. Maman even took a step closer, propping her forehead on her husband’s chest. He laid a kiss on the top of her head, his arms encircling her waist. “We should go and help,” Maman said, clearly loath to let go of Papa.

“Yes we should,” he replied, his words distorted due to his lips still being pressed to her hair.

With a small sigh, Maman pulled back, taking Papa’s hand as she started toward the carriage. She never liked to let the staff simply perform tasks for her, though they in turn were never inclined to let the family lift a finger. In the years that she’d lived here, they seemed to have come to a compromise, that Belle was not to be dissuaded from at least lending a hand. “I have two perfectly good legs,” she could often be heard saying, “and two very serviceable arms that are capable of doing work. And you - ” she would direct to her husband, “have as well.”

Leonie crouched hidden by her hedge, wanting to emerge and help unload the carriage as well, but not wanting her parents to know she had observed their private moment. “It’s mostly empty crates,” Maman’s voice carried from farther away, and then, to the driver, “Oh, Emile, it’s no trouble. Let me.”

Shaking her head at her silly self, Leonie brushed off her skirt and walked to the driveway. Waving as she walked, she called, “Maman! You’re back!”

Turning with two boxes in her arms, her mother smiled brightly. “Darling! Come and give us a hand!”

Leonie carted three more packages, as well as a hat Papa plonked on her head, into the castle, sandwiched between her parents’ loving looks.


	4. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Adam prove hard to find in the castle and share sickly-sweet affections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Having three jobs makes it hard for my free time to be useful, mostly used for quick showers and meals. Anyway, this chapter is one of my favorites, and if anyone is wondering what part of Romeo and Juliet Étienne is referencing, it's Act 1 Scene 5. (I had to go there with R&J. I know it's pretty tired in this fandom by now, but it's genuinely one of my favorite plays and the opportunity is too good!)

A cozy autumn afternoon waned into evening, and Étienne was sent to summon his parents to dinner. No one had seen them for quite a few hours, though that was not unusual. Papa often industriously holed himself up in the study, making sure that the day’s agenda was completed in quick order so as to spend the rest of his time with his family. Maman was much the same regarding the library, although she could be anywhere in or out of the castle, talking to Mrs Potts or Plumette, helping the other staff, or building yet another useful invention for household maintenance.

His first stop was indeed the library, always the first place to search for either of his parents. Étienne himself was known to spend days at a time in the cavernous room, but nobody but Rafaella, one of the young seamstresses, was to be found, her nose in a volume of poetry. He checked the upstairs parlor, peeked out into the garden, and glanced through Papa’s open study door, but all yielded nothing.

On his way back down the first-floor corridor, Étienne drew near the ballroom, its open doors spilling golden light and glinting sparkles from the chandeliers into the hall. As he turned the corner, he just glimpsed the tail end of a plain skirt and a sturdy shoe. Maman, at last. He strode to the door, mouth open and his summons on his tongue - but something made him wait. His father was standing at the old harpsichord, his fingers grazing over the keys soundlessly, seeming not to notice Étienne’s mother making a beeline for him.

“Mon amour, I’ve lost something,” Maman called from halfway across the spacious ballroom. Papa’s head shot up, his fingers falling to his sides.

“What is it, Belle? In this castle, it might take some time to turn up, but we can mount a search.”

“Oh, I know where it is, husband, and that is why I am here.” She drew level with Papa, holding her hands out for him to lace with hers. “I can’t seem to remember where I left my favorite kiss.”

Papa’s face cracked into a grin as he caught on, and Étienne could only watch as he relinquished one of Maman’s hands to graze her cheek.

“My dearest heart, you don’t recall? You gave it to me for safekeeping.”

“Did I?” Maman teased. “Well, I hope you have taken good care of it, for it is time for you to give it back. I have great need of it now, you see.”

“I will gladly return yours, and give you several of my own to make up for the time you spent searching for it,” Papa whispered, drawing closer until their lips met.

Étienne took a step back from the door, both embarrassed at witnessing such a scene and feeling that he intruded on their privacy. It was one thing to read of love in the library’s many, many books, but it was quite another when the lovers in question were his parents. He knew that they loved, of course, but it was different when they were in company.

Something prodding at the back of his brain suddenly burst forth, and Étienne had to stifle a laugh. He knew his father would grumble if he realized, but their conversation about kisses was strongly reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet’s first meeting at the Capulet ball. It was a wonder Maman wasn’t teasing him already.

Taking several steps back, thankful for his softest castle shoes, Étienne approached the door again, hoping to seem as if he’d just now stumbled across the ballroom. But again he was arrested by the sight of his parents, now sweeping around each other in a dance with soft smiles on both of their faces. They looked somewhat silly, Maman in her dirty shoes from outside, Papa’s hair falling out of its bow. But the sheer quiet of the ballroom, not even music playing, made the moment unlaughable.

It was time, Étienne determined. Interrupt though he may, he had been here long enough on this errand. He cleared his throat - 

“There you are! Goodness, it’s been ages!”

His twin sister, Clemence, appeared in the doorway next to him. Disgruntled, Étienne shot her a dirty look as Maman and Papa checked back in to the real world. Papa set Maman down, eyes twinkling.

“What is it, sweet?” he addressed Clemence.

“Étienne was supposed to get you for dinner, we’ve all been waiting.”

“Goodness, it is that time, isn’t it?” Maman yelped, really looking at the low golden sunlight pouring through the windows this time. She crossed the ballroom toward the twins, dragging her husband along. “The serving staff must be quite peeved.”

“Nonsense, darling,” Papa assured her. “It isn’t as if we’ve never been late before.”

The two of them set off in front of their children, already philosophizing about whether earliness or lateness was preferable.

“I was about to tell them!” Étienne declared to his sister. Clemence raised her eyebrow.

“Really. Because to me you looked like you were just standing there like a dope.”

“They were having a private moment,” he informed her as they began walking to the dining room after their parents. “I don’t like interrupting.”

“How long of a moment was it? We were waiting forever!”

“I had to search all over the castle! Don’t tell me the ballroom would be the first place you would look for them…”


	5. Like Grandfather, Like Grandson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy takes art lessons with Grandpère Maurice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I find myself having to beg forgiveness for the wait! There was a nice convergence of factors including a week spent in New York, getting back into my jobs when I got home, and the fact that October seems to be Book Publishing Month, so I had to catch up on all the new releases. It's been An Ordeal. More chapters to come, I promise!

Bellamy, Maurice’s youngest grandson at nine years old, was similar to him in many ways. He was friendly to all he came across, had a tendency to lose himself in whatever employment he found, and due to that focus was known to wear himself out and sleep soundly and heavily. He also had a knack for the artistic pursuits that his grandfather had managed to make a living doing. Painting, drawing, and even sometimes sculpting were his favorite things to spend his time on, and his monthly lessons in the village with Grandpère Maurice were eagerly looked forward to.

At the moment, Bellamy was hard at work shaping the eyes of the woman in his drawing.

“You’re doing splendidly, my boy,” Grandpère encouraged from his own easel. They stood side-by-side in the little workshop, each working on his own piece, Grandpère coaching Bellamy whenever he reached a tough spot. “The way you have shadowed the eyelid is simply inspired.”

“Thank you, Grandpère,” Bellamy said politely. They fell into contemplative silence once again, the sounds of opening and closing doors and laughter in the street wafting in from the open window.

Maman used to look out that window, Bellamy mused, starting on the eyelashes. She used to live here with Grandpère, a long time ago, before she knew Papa. She was not happy then, Bellamy had heard her say once, though she loved her father and their little cottage. Sometimes Bellamy wondered that she had had a life before meeting his father, as it seemed that they were always meant to be together, in the same place, in each other’s orbit. He almost couldn’t think of one without thinking of the other.

But now Maman was happy, Bellamy reminded himself. She smiled a lot, and told him she loved him, and sang while she worked. He concentrated on trying to capture that in his sketch, that small grin that was on her face so much that there were little lines around her mouth now.

“Grandpère?” he said quietly, his thoughts dancing between his work and the question he wanted to ask.

Grandpère was wiping his paintbrush on a stained cloth hanging at his waist. “Yes, child?”

“Did Maman always smile like this?”

Grandpère stepped out from behind his easel and joined Bellamy at his. When he studied Bellamy’s drawing a little more closely, he chuckled. “Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable,” he chuffed, peering through his spectacles. “You capture your mother’s charming features in a way I never could. Yes, to answer your question.” Grandpère laid his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder, prompting him to put down his pencil. “She has always had that flame inside her, shining its light out. She may not always have been perfectly content with the way our lives were conducted, but she never let that stop her from making the best of things. I’ve known that special grin of your mother’s for a very long time.”

Bellamy turned back to his easel, feeling strangely conflicted. On one hand, it was a comfort to know that Maman always made the best of things. On the other, it concerned him that she’d had to.

A short knock on the door brought boy and grandfather out of their thoughts once more, followed by Bellamy’s father stepping over the low threshold.

“Adam,” Grandpère greeted, pleasant if surprised. “Goodness, is it that time already?”

“I’m afraid so,” Papa confirmed, pointing at the clock on the far wall. “If we want to be home in time for dinner, that is. As always, you’re welcome to return with us; there’s always a bed at the castle for you.”

Bellamy gathered his things while his father and grandfather conversed, already brainstorming the way he could color the sketch in his hands. Maman often liked to wear blue…

“And what have you been working on today?” Papa asked, crouching down to Bellamy’s level. One day he’d be tall like his father, and like Rose, but that day was far off yet.

Bellamy handed his drawing over without a word. He liked it best when people made their own connections with his work, rather than trying to explain what he was trying to accomplish. His siblings in particular often drew their own conclusions, seeing his art from a perspective Bellamy hadn’t considered.

Papa was quiet in his examination, taking in every inch of the drawing. At last he cleared his throat and his mouth quirked up, and Bellamy realized that the same smile he thought was solely his mother’s belonged to his father as well.

“I’ve never seen you draw your mother before,” Papa said by way of commentary, finally tearing his eyes away to look at his son.

“Did Maman teach you that?” Bellamy replied, apropos of seemingly nothing.

Brow furrowed, Papa asked “Teach me what?”

Embarrassed that his thought had been blurted out, Bellamy mumbled, “You smile the same.”

His father’s face smoothed out into that grin again. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Grandpère was next to them again, a small bag of odds and ends packed for an overnight trip to the castle.

“I’m getting too old to be going up and down all these stairs,” he mused as they exited the cottage and descended the porch stairs, making for the carriage in the lane.

Papa, holding Bellamy’s hand, paused at the garden gate to say quietly, “Maybe I smile the same as your maman because she was the person who taught me how to smile at all.”

Taken aback, Bellamy asked, “You didn’t know how to smile? Who doesn’t know that?”

“Very sad boys,” Papa answered, “who think that something about them is broken.”

“You aren’t broken,” was all Bellamy could think to say.

Papa smiled softly at him, a far-off look in his eyes. “No, I know that now.”

Without another word, he handed Bellamy into the carriage, where he settled in next to his grandfather for the duration of the journey, questions for his mother forming in the back of his mind.


	6. Musical Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby of the family wants to be just like her maman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to give everyone in this family a comparable amount of representation! Obviously I'm only six chapters in and there are ten kids, so. It'll get there. Happy new year!

The castle’s long halls were sometimes quiet, at night when everyone was in bed, or in the tallest towers where few people liked to tread, but most of the time Helaine and her siblings were surrounded by some level of noise. The kitchen staff and implements clattered away, the children’s parlors and bedrooms were often occupied by noisy youths playing, and Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza made music wherever there was a pianoforte. Horses in the stables clomped around, the castle dogs and cats frolicked, and the staff’s children socialized, often with Helaine herself. And if you were lucky, if you were in the same part of the castle as Helaine’s maman, her lovely strains would precede her down the hall and fill the space with melody.

Little Helaine loved to hear Maman sing, which fortunately happened almost every day. Maman had the prettiest voice in the world, although she never liked to sing at balls or in front of crowds, like Madame did. Helaine recognized some of the songs her mother sang, whistled, hummed, but some of them were ones she didn’t know, and she wanted to learn them.

“Valerie?” Helaine asked, looking up from her book. She was a good reader, but she wanted to read the same books her siblings read, the big ones with pretty writing on the front. Her sisters often helped her along, taking turns telling her what hard words meant.

“Hmm?” Valerie looked up from her own book across the table. They were in the little sitting room with the big window looking out onto the back courtyard, and their mother was out pacing the grounds, singing and humming in turns.

“Did Madame de Garderobe teach Maman to sing?” Valerie had weekly lessons with the singer and her husband, as well as a few other instrumental tutors. Helaine was on her third such lesson herself, Madame stating that “the little angel’s fine, clear voice wants cultivating!” Helaine was happy to learn.

Valerie shook her head. “No, I think that’s only you and me,” she said, bookmarking her page. “Maman didn’t meet Madame until she was almost a grown lady.”

“Really?” Helaine walked over to the window, standing on tiptoes to reach over the sill. Maman was in her green dress, sitting in the grass and making a flower chain. Sometimes Helaine wondered if her maman was like her once, looking out a window and wishing she could be like her mother. “I thought all the singing lessons were taught by Madame.”

“They are now, but Maman could sing before then.” Valerie joined Helaine, offering her hands so she could lift her baby sister up for a better view.

“Why doesn’t she teach us to sing, then?”

Valerie laughed. “She has other things to do, you goose.”

Goose! How could her sister call her such a thing! Helaine squirmed around so Valerie would drop her and proceeded to stomp toward the door, much to her sister’s bemusement.

“Well, I have other things to do too!” Helaine declared, snatching up her little book. She needed more practice, but not now.

“Alright then,” said Valerie, trying not to insult her sister further.

Helaine deposited the book safely in her room, knowing she wouldn’t need it outside. She was going to join her mother, who would never laugh at her.

Maman wore a crown of daisies by the time Helaine approached her, now in the middle of weaving blades of grass together. Helaine wondered what she was going to do with them.

“What are you singing?” she asked, making Maman break off and turn to her.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Maman smiled softly, holding out an inviting arm. Helaine dropped to her knees and ducked into her mother’s side. “I was remembering one of my favorite music boxes that Grandpère built. The tune went like - ” And she demonstrated the song, her tongue tripping deftly over each wordless note. “It reminded me of when I was a little girl your age.”

“How many music boxes has Grandpère made?” Helaine wondered aloud.

“Goodness, I couldn’t say,” Maman declared. “He has been constructing them my whole life.”

“That’s a long time,” Helaine said gravely. Maman laughed.

They lapsed into silence again, though Maman soon broke it by beginning the same song again. She reached over for more flowers and twined them together, forming the base of another crown, blue and pink and yellow. Maman looped it around Helaine’s head briefly, to size it properly.

At the sound of footsteps, Helaine shifted from her mother’s side, peering in the direction of the castle. Papa was coming their way, his hands in his pockets.

“I heard the loveliest voice and I had to come investigate straightaway,” he said without preamble, winking at his daughter.

“Well, let your search take you no further.” Maman had her eyes on her work, but Helaine knew she was teasing by the secret grin on her face. “It was only I, your humble wife, singing a country song.”

“Only you!” Papa was indignant, making Helaine giggle. “Only the cleverest, only the prettiest, only the most musical woman of my personal acquaintance! And that could be no country song, it must have been a siren’s call to have moved me so.”

Helaine thought her funny maman would rebut again, but she only blushed light pink and set the finished flower crown on her daughter’s head. “Come on,” Maman encouraged, getting to her feet and pulling Helaine up with her. “I think we need a refresher course on classical myths if that is what you think a siren’s song is like.”

Nevertheless, when they drew level with Papa, Maman guided his face with the hand not holding Helaine’s and planted a kiss on his beaming cheek. As they made their way up the steps to go inside, Papa replied, “Utterly enticing and promising of the fulfillment of the dearest desires of one’s heart? No, my love, I think I have a perfectly good grasp on how your song compares to the sirens’.”

Helaine, lost in this volley of learned topics, tugged on her mother’s hand. “I want to know what a siren’s song is!”

Maman and Papa both laughed, already directing their feet toward the library. “I think we can make an early start on your classical education,” Maman agreed.

“Perhaps not the depictions of monstrous women yet,” Papa countered, making Maman chuckle again.

“I daresay knowing of a few beasts might behoove our children,” she said slyly, and Helaine watched in wonder as her father actually blushed. “I am certainly fond of one, and I learned a great deal from my acquaintance with him.”

Papa dropped a kiss onto his wife’s temple, stepping away still quite pink. “Helaine, would you wait for us in the library? Locating all of your siblings will be worth it for a mythology spree, I think.”

Helaine happily moved off by herself, already humming the song Maman had gotten stuck in her head.


	7. Passing Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clemence keeps stumbling upon secret messages between her parents.

On the mezzanine of the library, Clemence dithered between the three novels she wanted to read.

This one took place in a haunted labyrinth and seemed thrilling, but Étienne had been after her to read the book about long-lost cousins who found their way to each other using their secret magical powers… and the one clutched in the crook of her elbow had such a beautiful cover and she had seen Maman buried in it only a few days ago. Clemence knew as well as anybody how Maman could get lost in a book, but this one felt… special somehow.

“That’s it, this is the one,” Clemence declared out loud, definitively setting the other two choices on one of the small tables that littered the upper level of the room. Unfortunately, she knocked into the table immediately upon turning to make her way downstairs, and the labyrinth novel jostled to the floor.

Bending down to pick it up again, Clemence noticed a page corner poking out from behind the hard cover. “Oh no,” she murmured, flipping the cover open so that she could fold the page back. But, when she did so, to her surprise, a small piece of paper dislodged itself and fluttered to the floor.

Realizing that the book wasn’t damaged at all, she set it aside and stooped yet again, snatching the paper up.

“Everything all right up there?” a voice called from down below.

Clemence leaned over the railing and grinned at Geraldine, the cook’s helper as well as her friend. Her orange hair was an easy beacon in any room, even one as big as the library. “Just dropping things,” Clemence said nonchalantly. Geraldine shrugged and went back to her own browsing.

Clemence withdrew from the edge and flipped the paper over. It was a handwritten note - and she knew that writing.

_My love,_  
_I’ve just finished this story and am on my way to recommend it to you. I have faith that you will understand why by the time you get to the third chapter. It struck such a chord within me that I knew I had to share it with you. Henri’s strength and character stirred me so with thoughts of you._

_Yes, darling, love you as I do, sometimes I need a reminder from an outside source to really bring my feelings for you to the forefront again. I’m sure I have told you before that there is nothing I like better than finding you in every unexpected corner - in books, in new recipes from the kitchen, in our children. You truly are spectacular, and though Henri reflects bits of you, he can never compare._

_-Your wife_

Clemence held the note after she finished reading it, thoughtful and a bit embarrassed. It was a sweet sentiment, but it was her mother’s private thoughts. Seeing them laid out in black and white like this was somehow odd.

At last she slid the paper back into the book, the book back in its place on the shelf. If Papa was supposed to read it on Maman’s recommendation, he would need to be able to find it where it should be.

Before Clemence could sit down and finally begin reading the novel she’d chosen, Geraldine called again from downstairs.

“Clemence! Come look at what I’ve just found!”

Clemence slid down the ladder with practiced ease. Straightening her skirt, she made her way across the wide room to her friend.

“It was under the teapot!” Geraldine whispered, though they were alone in the library with no one to overhear. She stood at the largest table, on which sat the tea service, holding a loose slip of paper between two fingers.

“Another one?” Clemence exclaimed, taking it from Geraldine.

“There’s more?” Geraldine’s eyebrows raised, showing her clear interest. “I didn’t read it,” she hastened to add, not eager to appear nosy. Clemence made a face at her and took the paper, gesturing for her friend to inspect it with her.

_“Thinking of you,”_ they read together. _“I expect you to come find me as soon as this falls into your possession, so I won’t charge you to do it. Do bring this tray with some of our favorite biscuits when you do, though.”_ There was a drawing of three hearts underneath the message, but Clemence was thankful they were the most embarrassing part of the note. Even though she herself invited Geraldine to read it, she knew well how intimate her parents could be.

“That’s sweet,” Geraldine cooed.

“I found another one just now in a book upstairs,” Clemence divulged.

“Do you think your mother leaves these all over the place?” Geraldine’s eyes were alight as she reached out to grab Clemence’s arm.

Clemence was already shaking her head. “We are not hunting for these, Ger,” she said vehemently. “If you happen across another one, just put it back where you found it and don’t read any more!”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Geraldine promised, though the excitement in her eyes had already died out. “I just… I think it’s wonderful. I know as much as anyone in this castle how much your parents love each other.”

“They’re always doing this,” Clemence rolled her eyes fondly. “Being so… romantic.”

Geraldine started giggling. “It’s adorable.”

Clemence hit her lightly. “Stop it! I don’t talk about your parents being lovey dovey.”

“That’s because my parents are normal.”

“Well.” Clemence started backing toward the door, wanting to make her point and finish this conversation. “Anyway, it’s like reading someone’s diary. My mother is hiding these for a reason. It’s only polite to leave them alone if you find them.”

Geraldine waved a hand in her direction, going back to her quest for a book as Clemence rounded the corner out of sight.

-

Dinner was near, and Clemence ducked into the kitchen to wash up from her work in the garden. The warm room was busy, but not too crowded - the staff was already filing out to set the table.

Hurrying to the sink in the corner, Clemence scrubbed up to her elbows, grabbed a towel, and turned to place the now dirty rag in a basket. On the corner of the main counter sat a large plate of apple tarts for dessert, and on top of that sat a curling white piece of paper.

Clemence couldn’t resist.

_NO! I made these myself, and you will not get your fingers into them until everybody else does. I love you._

Right on cue, the door opened. Papa poked his head in, looking around the quickly emptying space. When his eyes landed on Clemence, her suspicions were confirmed. He jumped, surprised to see her, and she knew by the guilt in his eyes that he had come to pilfer an early dessert.

“My sweet, what are you doing in here? It’s almost time to eat,” Papa blurted out, attempting to recover.

“Just washing up,” Clemence answered, smiling sweetly. “What are you doing in here, may I ask?”

Papa couldn’t come up with an excuse. “Well, you see - I was - ”

“No need to think up a tale,” Clemence interrupted, gleeful at the prospect of teasing her father. She plucked the note from the apple tarts and strolled over to Papa and the door. “Maman told me all I need to know.”

She handed her baffled father the note, patted him on the shoulder, and edged past him into the spacious dining room. Before the door closed behind her, she heard a long groan.

“Caught with his hand in the cookie jar?” Maman asked, standing behind her dining chair as she and the rest of the family waited for everyone to arrive.

Clemence laughed, and as she passed her mother on the way to her seat, she leaned in to whisper. “He has not gotten your other notes in the library, by the way.”

Maman shook her head gently and bent her head to murmur, “Perhaps I should consider a more direct approach.”

When Papa reemerged from the kitchen, looking sullen, Maman strode right over to him, pulled yet another secret note out of her pocket, and deposited it in his hand. Clemence was close enough to her her mother’s soft whisper: “You do a very poor job finding my messages.” Before she could pull entirely away, Papa brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then let her go with his brow still furrowed in what Clemence could only guess was deepening confusion.

Next to her, Leonie gave her an elbow to the side. Everyone had watched the strange interaction between their parents. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the oddest story,” Clemence said. “I’ll tell you later.”


	8. A Ploy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There seems to be a suspicious amount of mistletoe around the castle this year...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's far past Christmas, but it can always be Christmas in our hearts. Thank you for reading!

In the wintertime, the castle was set off to brilliant advantage. The adults might not think the children paid attention, but Lunette certainly noticed the way each decorative piece was supposed to appeal to her father, who was liable to become a bit subdued during the winter months. Her mother, on the other hand, active though she already was, became positively industrious. Maman could bake an element of every meal; organize outings for all the children, the staff’s and her own; perform maintenance on the inventions of hers that were most likely to freeze up; stand for Grandpère in their biennial family portrait; plan a suitably entertaining event for Neville’s birthday, close on the heels of Christmas; finish her year’s reading list in the library; and still have time to spare sequestered away with Papa, nearly driving the children mad. Lunette understood. Something about the snow made Papa’s eyes turn down, try as he might to hide it.

“I don’t know how you do it, Lulu,” Rose would say, brushing Lunette’s unique copper hair carefully in the nursery. “I go about my day thinking everything is fine and everyone is happy, but you come around and fix a problem I didn’t even know about.”

One morning in December, Lunette awoke to find every doorway graced with sprigs of green leaves and white berries that weren’t there the night before.

“Mistletoe,” Bellamy mumbled, still wiping sleep out of his eyes.

“What’s that?” Lunette asked, mystified. Bellamy was only a year older than her; how would he know?

“If you’re standing under it with someone else, you have to kiss them,” Valerie informed her from her own open door across the hall.

Lunette and Bellamy slowly turned to face one another, then jumped apart as if repelled by magnets. “YUCK!” they chorused, dashing down the corridor away from the offending doorway. Bellamy peeled off toward the kitchen, but Lunette took a left for the library, intent on reading everything she could about mistletoe to show Bellamy up. She only hoped she could guess how to spell it.

When she rounded the last corner, she stopped short. The library door was propped open by none other than Papa, bodily holding it open rather than putting down a doorstop. Everyone was behaving oddly today, Lunette thought. Just as she was about to continue down the corridor and ask her father why on earth he was reading in the way of the door, Maman came from around the opposite corner. Lunette watched as a sly grin came over her face, quickly vanishing as she drew level with Papa under the lintel.

“Good morning, dear,” he greeted Maman, not looking up from his book, even to peek at her over the top.

“That must be quite a page-turner,” Maman said pointedly. She didn’t give him a chance to respond, taking hold of the book to ensure it didn’t fall as she swooped in over it to land a resounding, smacking kiss on his lips. When she pulled back, Papa’s face chased hers, making her laugh.

“Next time you want to trick me into a kiss, maybe think about holding your prop right-side-up,” Maman smirked, still gripping the forgotten book. She theatrically flipped it so that Lunette could see the title now at the top of the front cover rather than the bottom. Maman gave her stupefied husband one more kiss, then smacked him lightly on the cheek and strode into the library. Papa took a moment to clear his throat and collect himself, then followed her inside. “It worked, didn’t it?” Lunette heard from her place in the corridor.

_What on earth was all that about?_ Lunette wondered, but only for a moment as her eyes traveled up the high doors. When her gaze landed on the object she should have expected, her disgust with this castle and everyone in it only mounted.

_“Mistletoe!”_ she spat, wheeling around to fetch her coat and just go outside. “I just can’t get away from all this _mistletoe!”_


	9. Not Enough Cooks In the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is a simply woeful chef and gets absolutely owned by his ten-year-old son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! I've been caught up with my original fiction, but I feel terribly guilty about the long hiatus. Apologies and here's this to make amends!

As Bellamy studied art periodically with Grandpère, so was Neville employed in his own lessons. Cuisinier may not have needed a hand in the kitchen, but he was willing to take Neville under his wing when he had finally had enough of the boy’s persistent questions about how each meal was prepared.

“I will simply show you how to do it all!” he had stormed, taking Neville by the wrist and giving the kitchen door a good thrust before depositing Neville on a stool at the work counter. Chip, Mrs. Potts’ tall strapping son, had given him a quick wink from his position at the washbasin, scrubbing fruit. Far from being chastened, Neville was quite pleased with himself.

“A ten-year-old child in my kitchen - ” Cuisinier had muttered, fishing about for appropriate utensils. “And you will take care not to cut yourself or catch fire or ruin your clothes!” he had railed, pointing a finger in Neville’s face. “When I think of how your mother will react…”

“Belle will laugh herself hoarse if he covers himself in flour,” Chip had chimed in, drying an apple on his apron. “Don’t worry yourself.”

That had been months ago, and now Neville was often seen in the kitchen, making treats for various people around the castle - Cuisinier still wouldn’t let him prepare a complete meal. He was quite adept at tarts by now, but his eye was set on perfecting the sweet breads his mother was especially fond of.

Today Maman was sleeping in, as Neville discovered when he passed the library and found it deserted. This was his chance.

He dashed to the kitchen, slowing down when he neared the side door. Cuisinier sometimes took mornings off, since the family arose at different times and preferred individual breakfasts to a large sit-down meal. If the lower kitchen staff was taking care of things, Neville was in the clear. If not… Cuisinier might be incensed to find his pupil in the kitchen when not asked for.

Neville prodded the door open just a crack, trying to peer inside inconspicuously. No Cuisinier! Emboldened, he let himself the rest of the way in.

No sooner had he rounded the big ovens, though, than he caught sight of his father, dusted in food debris and swearing at something Neville couldn’t see.

Papa was not a rare sight in the kitchen, but usually he was there looking for morsels between meals. At this moment, he was hovering over a tray, surprising Neville into asking, “What are you doing?”

His father looked up at him, sighing. “This is supposed to be breakfast for your mother, but I’m afraid it hasn’t gone to plan,” he said, gesturing. Neville came closer and peered at the tray sitting on the counter. A bowl of cherries seemed to be the only thing not ruined. Some sadly prepared eggs (was that a shell fragment in them?), a flat tart that Neville was offended he hadn’t been consulted on, and a watery cup of coffee were also part of the meal, but the true marvel was the spectacularly burnt bread in the very middle of the tray. Neville was agog. Papa couldn’t even prepare the simplest toast.

“I can help you,” Neville offered, not knowing what else to do. “You can’t give this to Maman.”

Papa laughed ruefully. “I fully agree. I would love your help,” he said, pushing the ruined tray to the middle of the work counter.

Neville took an apron from the wall and tied it around himself, the strings winding around his middle three times. “Maybe you should save the cherries,” he suggested. “Those made it out alright.”

If Papa was offended at his middle son’s directness, he didn’t show it. Neville guided him around the kitchen, supervising the stove closely and feeling very learned. He was thrilled to have the chance to show off, and if Cuisinier walked in to see him bossing his father around, then so much the better. The two were so engrossed in their work, Papa studying Neville’s tart-making technique closely, that they didn’t even notice the door from the dining room swing open.

“Adam?”

Neville and Papa whirled around, apron strings swinging. Maman was standing on the other side of the counter, inspecting the disastrous first tray.

“Darling,” Papa blurted.

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” Neville exclaimed. Maman raised an eyebrow. He hastened to get her straightened out. “I was going to make you breakfast! But Papa already did, and I had to fix it, and now I’m doing it anyway. Oh, it was supposed to be a surprise!”

Before Neville could work himself up too much, Maman’s expression softened. “Believe me, cher, I am certainly surprised. This looks wonderful.” Pacified, Neville turned around to put his tart in the oven.

“You made this breakfast for me?” he heard Maman ask behind him, clearly directed to Papa.

“That was the idea,” Papa responded, sounding defeated. “I managed to make a mess of it, which I suppose I should have expected. How many times now have I learned that reading up on a skill in a book does not make one able to execute it in real life?”

Maman didn’t reply for a few seconds, and Neville daren’t turn around. They were going to be sappy again, he just knew it. When she did speak, her voice was discernably affected. “How many times now have _I_ learned that you are the sweetest, most thoughtful, dearest man in the world? And that I am the luckiest woman to have you?” Neville heard them kiss, but he was studiously watching his tart, too mortified to acknowledge this was happening in his vicinity.

When the three of them adjourned to the dining room to eat, Maman was carrying the ruined breakfast as well as the beautiful one.


	10. When Left to Her Own Devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle distracts herself with work while Adam is away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! If you've stuck around, I'm truly shocked, but thank you all the same! It's been way too long. I got a job as an I-shit-you-not librarian, so things have been busy. I knew I needed to come back to BatB-land, though! This chapter is short and probably a little rusty, but I'll get back into the swing of things. Hope everyone's doing well!

Papa rarely had to leave the castle, and Rose knew he preferred it that way, but when he was called away, he did everything in his power to make it a short trip. His attempts to keep his business brief were to no avail this time, though, and he had left four days ago for a month-long absence.

“Maman,” Rose called as she walked through the open door of her mother’s workroom, a repurposed parlor that she’d long ago taken a liking to. “Have you seen my box of ribbons? I wanted to make something for Lucie’s birthday - ” She cut herself off upon catching sight of the charcoal smudge on Maman’s nose, dissolving into laughter.

Maman must have known, judging by the way she rolled her eyes when she said “What’s so funny?” She tried to surreptitiously wipe the mark away, but clearly didn’t know it was on her nose and not her cheek, since that’s where her finger went. Rose walked over to find a rag and clean her mother up for her.

“You must be working hard,” she commented, clearing the mark away with a few swipes. Papers that Rose couldn’t decipher were all over Maman’s large table, her hair was disheveled, and she still had that faraway look in her eye that meant her mind was far away.

“Yes,” Maman said abstractedly, pulling up a large sleeve. Rose looked her mother up and down.

“Is that… Papa’s shirt?”

Maman’s eyes snapped back into sharp focus. “I - yes,” she confessed, looking down at the voluminous fabric. Rose realized quickly that her mother was actually embarrassed at having been caught in her husband’s clothing.

Rose put herself at Maman’s side, wrapping an arm around her. Maman tucked her into her side. “I miss him too,” she said ruefully. “And I’m sure he’s having an awful time sitting bored with all those advisors.”

“Of course he is,” Maman chuckled. “I do find myself wishing that I were with him, although then the tedium would only be compounded.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Rose inquired, voicing a question she and Leonie had had for a while. “Why don’t you ever accompany Papa on his travels?”

“Your father and I made a promise many years ago that we would never leave all of you without both parents,” Maman told her. “Only one of us at a time. It was very important to your papa, though of course I agreed with him.”

“But then you only end up missing each other.” Rose knew she hadn’t experienced much of love yet, but her mother and father had one of the strongest bonds she’d ever seen. Sometimes she wondered how the two of them didn’t get sick of each other, but they seemed like two ends of a length of rubber, always being stretched apart and snapping back to each other’s sides at the first opportunity. It must be terrible to be so far apart.

Maman gave a small smile. “But I still have this,” she said, using her free hand to flap Papa’s large sleeve. “Until it stops smelling like him,” she added, bringing it briefly to her nose.

“Would you like me to bring you any other clothes, if you’re going to be holed up in here for days on end?” Rose teased, still wrapped up with her mother.

“I have a pair of his breeches tangled in the bed somewhere,” Maman shot back, eyebrows innocently raised. Rose extricated herself from their armhold, playfully whacking her mother.

“I’m leaving!” she announced dramatically. “Maybe Chip will help me find my ribbon box, and that way he won’t be available to call you down to dinner! You’ll simply have to starve.”

“Thank you, Rosie, I’ll expect him at six,” Maman called to her retreating back.


End file.
